'John Trisler, Lionel Trisler.'
I scanned each letter in the stack. Every single one had come from Reysland, all bearing the names of my father and brother.
On the 20th of each month, without fail, these letters had been sent from Reysland to Northtown.
The dates were clear—every month, for the last ten years, right up until last month.
'For ten years,' I thought, holding the trembling letters in my hands, though I'd convinced myself I looked steady on the outside.
Yet my heartbeat thundered in my ears, loud as a summer storm.
I clutched the last letter to my chest and tried to stand, gripping the bookshelf for support, but my knees gave out.
I collapsed to the floor, clutching the letters as tears spilled over, crashing down like spring rivers breaking their banks.
'They never for
